His Three Alphas

“Swallow my cum, pretty thing,” Lucien growls against my ear, fingers buried deep, “then beg us to knot you until you’re leaking us for days.” 🥵💦 The night the rogues attacked, my world shattered. One moment I was just another “Beta” student hiding my scent at the Royal Academy. The next, I was dragged through blood and smoke, caged, and sold to the three Kings who rule the empire like gods. Dante. Lucien. Kade. They don’t ask. They claim. I came here as their captive. Now I’m dripping for three Alphas who own my body, my heat… and maybe what’s left of my soul. Three ruthless brothers. One Omega. And the kind of obsession that could destroy kingdoms. "Now spread those pretty legs wider, little Omega so I can fuck that tight hole." CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 1 ROWAN “Move, Beta trash.” The words are sharp, cutting through the noise of the hallway, followed by a shove that makes my shoulder hit the cold marble wall. For a second, I consider ignoring it, because that’s what I’ve done for the last three years—ignore, vanish, stay out of sight. But the second shove comes harder, accompanied by a laugh and the same voice saying, “What? Cat got your tongue?” And that’s it. I turn, slow, deliberate, my patience already burning at the edges. “Can’t you fucking see?” I snap, glaring at the two perfectly groomed idiots who have clearly never known what it means to be punched in the face. The taller one scoffs, eyes widening like he can’t believe someone dared talk back to him. “What did you just say?” I tilt my head. “Oh, you heard me. I said, can you not fucking see? Or are the royal hair products blinding you?” The smaller one lets out a shocked laugh, then covers it with a cough when the tall one glares at him. “You’ve got a mouth, Beta,” the taller one growls. “Yeah,” I say, stepping forward, “and ears too, which means I can hear how stupid you sound.” Gasps ripple down the hallway. I can feel eyes on me—dozens of them—students watching, whispering, memorizing every word. Great. I just painted a target on my back. The tall one sneers, stepping closer. “Do you know who my father is?” “Oh gods, that line,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “You nobles really need to get better material.” Laughter breaks out from a few brave students at the far end of the hall, but it dies quickly when the tall noble rounds on them. He turns back to me, fury twisting his face. “You’ll regret this.” “I already do,” I say dryly, stepping around him. “Talking to you killed my last brain cell.” The hallway is silent for half a heartbeat before whispers explode behind me—half horrified, half impressed. I successfully fucked up four years of invisibility in less than thirty seconds. Shut up, Rowan, shut up, but it was too late, because the Alpha’s hand was already rising, and before I could move he slapped me across the face, hard enough that my vision blurred. He turned to two Beta boys behind him and snapped, “Drag him to the field. We’re handling this the old way.” “What?” I hissed, stumbling backward. “No—hey—don’t you—” “Shut up,” one of them muttered as they grabbed my arms. They dragged me across the courtyard while everyone watched, some recording already, some whispering, some laughing, and all I could think was, Not again, not again, not again, because I had promised myself I would never bend to this kind of humiliation again. But here I was, being shoved into the center of the training field while a crowd formed around me, phones out, eyes sharp with the kind of anticipation that made my stomach twist. The Alpha stepped forward holding a whip—thin, cruel leather—and I felt my throat tighten. “Beta punishment,” he said casually. “Twelve lashes for disrespect.” “This is stupid,” I snapped. “You’re stupid. This whole—” The first lash hit my back before I could finish, a hot line of fire slicing across my skin, and I hissed through my teeth, gripping the pole they tied me to, refusing to bend. “Count,” the Alpha ordered. “No,” I whispered. The second lash struck harder and someone recorded it, murmuring, “Damn, he’s not even crying.” The third hit, the fourth, the fifth, and my jaw was clenching so hard I thought my teeth might crack, but I refused to make a sound. By the twelfth lash I was trembling, my breathing ragged, sweat beading across my forehead, and when the Alpha said, “He hasn’t cried once—make it twenty,” the crowd cheered. “Don’t—” I started, but the next lash cut through my words. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. By sixteen, my legs were buckling. By seventeen, I tasted blood where I bit my cheek. By eighteen, my vision was starting to whiten around the edges. By nineteen, someone whispered, “This is abuse, isn’t it?” And by twenty, I was barely standing, but I still refused to let a single tear fall. When they finally untied me and walked away laughing, the crowd dispersed slowly, still whispering, still recording, still smirking at my pain, and I just stood there, swaying slightly, whispering to myself, “You’re fine, you’re fine, it’s nothing, you’ve survived worse,” even though every breath was searing my lungs. When the field was finally empty, I pushed myself upright and hissed when the pain sharpened across my back. My shirt was sticking uncomfortably to the raw wounds and I muttered, “Great, wonderful, fantastic morning,” while limping slowly toward the building. The academy had been owned by the Varyn family for generations, passed down through kings who claimed to modernize but still clung to archaic traditions. Nobles still had free rein. Alphas could still punish Betas in the open. And the staff still pretended not to notice when one student whipped another in the middle of the day. As I entered the hallway, holding a bottle of water I’d grabbed from a vending machine, I heard a sudden commotion—students running, whispering, gasping. “They’re here—” “No way—” “The Varyn Kings—right now?—” My heart dropped. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” I whispered sharply, “Turn around, Rowan, turn around,” because the last thing I needed was to be seen in this pathetic, limping state after being whipped like a dog. But before I could leave, the hallway exploded with movement. People pushed, shoved, clawed for better positions to see the royals entering from the courtyard, and the pressure of bodies slamming into me made agony shoot up my back. “Stop—hey—watch it—” I hissed, stumbling. Someone shoved me harder. I start to slip away, clutching the bottle tight, muttering, “Just get back to class, Rowan. Don’t look. Don’t—” “Move,” someone hisses behind me. It’s the tall noble from earlier. Of course it is. The universe really hates me. “I am moving,” I snap, trying to sidestep him. He smirks. “Not fast enough, Beta Trash.” I grit my teeth. “Say that again.” “Beta,” he drawls, loud enough for the guards nearby to hear. “Trash.” My fingers tighten on the cup. “You’re really pushing your luck.” “What’s the matter?” he sneers. “Scared the Kings will see what you really are?” I blink. “What the hell does that mean?” He doesn’t answer. He just shoves me. Hard. My water bottle slipped from my hand and the cold liquid splashed everywhere as I lurched forward, completely unable to steady myself because my body was still shaking from the pain, and then I collided with someone solid. So solid my knees buckled instantly. The water splashed across the person’s chest, soaking the fabric. I fell onto my knees, the pain exploding across my back so sharply I saw stars, and I looked up— Straight into the enraged eyes of Dante Varyn. His black shirt was drenched. His jaw was tightening. And his aura was already suffocating the hallway. “Oh,” I whispered numbly. “I’m done for.” Students around us gasped loudly. The noble who shoved me goes pale. “Oh gods—” Dante stared at me with a stare so sharp it felt like a blade. Lucien, standing to his right, grins like this is the best entertainment he’s had all month. “Well, this is new,” he says softly. Kade lingers behind them watching everything. My brain is screaming. My mouth opens. No words come out. The guards are already moving. I can hear their boots, their weapons, the collective sound of every student holding their breath. I want to disappear. I want to melt into the marble. I want to go back ten seconds and trip myself instead. “Oh,” I whisper. Lucien raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. “Oh?” I swallow hard, voice dropping to a whisper meant for myself but loud enough that the nearest guards hear it. “Oh, I’m so fucking dead.” CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 2 DANTE The first thing I registered was the cold shock of water soaking through my shirt, bleeding slowly into the gold embroidery that marked my rank, and for a moment I simply stared down at it, watching the droplets spread like an infection. Irritation rose immediately, sharp and instinctive, because I despised mess, I despised disorder, and I especially despised anything touching me without permission. The fabric clung unpleasantly to my skin, and the room seemed to fall into a full, choking silence as students backed away in terror. Then I looked down. The boy was kneeling at my feet, shoulders shaking, chest heaving, clearly in pain, yet somehow still managing to glare up at me as though I had done something wrong. His eyes were a storm—furious and defiant and far too alive for someone of his station. And that defiance, that insolent challenge in his gaze, irked something deep and ancient inside me, something sharp-edged and instinctively territorial. I tilted my head slightly, voice dropping. “Do tell me,” I said slowly, “what on earth possessed you to collide with me of all people? Are you blind, or merely stupid?” A ripple of horrified whispers swept through the hallway. The boy lifted his chin. “It wasn’t my fault,” he snapped, voice hoarse. “I was being pushed. Maybe look around before assuming everyone’s trying to drown you.” My fingers twitched. Lucien, standing slightly behind me, let out a soft laugh, one of those low, delighted sounds that meant he was thoroughly entertained. “Oh, bravo,” he murmured. “A Beta with a backbone. That’s new.” I ignored him. He was still meeting my eyes, still challenging me, still pushing despite the fact that he was on his knees, trembling, unable to rise properly. I could smell blood—fresh—likely from his back, though I had no intention of checking. It did, however, explain the stiffness in his movements, the way his breath hitched when he tried to straighten. “Listen carefully,” I said, stepping forward just enough that my shadow fell over him. “I am not in the habit of repeating myself, so take this as a rare courtesy. If you ever—ever—collide with me again, I will make certain it is the last mistake you ever commit.” He gritted his teeth. “You think I wanted to bump into you? Believe me, Your Majesty, I’d rather throw myself off the roof.” Lucien snorted. “Darling, do try. I’d pay to watch.” The boy shot him a murderous glare, which only amused my brother further. I inhaled slowly, letting the annoyance settle into something colder. “You insolent little wretch,” I murmured. “I could snap your neck for less.” And I meant it. The urge was there—hot, precise, deadly—for him daring to stand his ground, for looking me in the eyes like we were equals. Kade, at my right, shifted slightly, sensing the spike in my temper, but he said nothing. He never interfered unless necessary. I stepped away at last, turning my back on the boy because continuing to look at him was only aggravating me further. “I will deal with you later,” I promised quietly. Lucien leaned down to whisper, “I do hope you don’t kill him too quickly. He’s terribly fun.” I ignored him. But as we continued down the hallway, something made me glance back. The boy was limping away—slowly, painfully—his breathing uneven, his hand gripping the wall for support. Students scattered away from him like he carried plague, though several were still filming, whispering gleefully about the spectacle. My irritation sharpened. I forced my eyes forward. “To the meeting.” The principal, the dean, and every other pathetic excuse for leadership at the Academy were already standing when we arrived, their faces pale, their hands fidgeting grotesquely. The long mahogany table stretched before us, polished until it gleamed, though the room still reeked faintly of fear. “Your Majesties,” the principal stammered, “it is an honour—” “Save your breath,” Lucien muttered, pushing past him and choosing his seat with a lazy flourish. I took the head of the table, lowering myself into the chair with the weight of someone entitled to rule. Kade sat at the opposite end, silent and observant as always. “Let us begin,” I said, my voice slicing through the room like a blade. The principal swallowed. “O-of course.” I rested my elbows lightly on the armrests. “Explain why we were not informed,” I said, “that there was a breach on the academy grounds yesterday.” The room froze. The dean wiped at his forehead nervously. “Your Majesty, the incident seemed rather minor at the time, so w-we—” “You thought it too insignificant to inform the rulers of the kingdom?” I asked coldly. The principal nodded weakly. “Y-yes, Your Majesty, we did not wish to disturb you—” “Your first mistake,” Lucien said pleasantly, smiling at them like a cat watching dying prey. “And your second,” I continued calmly, “was presuming you had the authority to decide what constitutes a threat to the crown.” The principal trembled. “We… w-we apologise, Your Majesty. It was an oversight.” I slammed my hand on the table, making several of them flinch violently. “An oversight?” I repeated sharply. “Do you understand anything at all? If this academy is breached, the kingdom is endangered. If the kingdom is endangered, the crown is endangered. The three of us are endangered. And you sit here telling me you didn’t want to disturb us?” The sub-dean cleared his throat. “If you had provided us with more notice, perhaps we could have handled—” He did not finish the sentence. In less than five seconds, Lucien moved. He slid out of his chair, gliding across the floor with unnatural elegance, and before the sub-dean could gasp, my brother had sunk two fingers into the man’s chest and torn out his heart with a cheerful hum. The sub-dean collapsed to the floor. The heart dangled from Lucien’s fingertips like a morbid trinket. “Now,” Lucien chirped, smiling sweetly, “does anyone else have something utterly idiotic to say?” No one breathed. Kade didn’t flinch. I didn’t blink. Lucien was a psychopath—everyone knew that—but he was my brother, and I had long since grown desensitised to the carnage he enjoyed. The principal began shaking. “Y-your Majesties… w-we assure you there will be immediate reforms—” “There had better be,” Kade said quietly from the far end of the table. “Or next time, I’ll let him keep going.” The principal nearly collapsed. I stood, signalling the meeting was over. “Ensure your replacements are competent,” I said, glancing briefly at the body cooling on the floor. “And double your security. Triple it, if necessary.” “Yes, Your Majesty,” the dean whispered shakily. We turned to leave, but before we reached the doors, I stopped. “One more thing,” I said softly. The principal looked up, eyes wide. I narrowed mine. “Send me the file of the student who drenched me in the hallway.” Lucien laughed under his breath. Kade exhaled slowly, already anticipating trouble. I simply adjusted my cuffs, feeling the irritation rise again. That boy— That insolent, limping, infuriating boy— had caught my attention. And I fully intended to deal with him. One way or another. CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 3 ROWAN By​‍​‌‍​‍‌ the time I got back to my dorm, I could barely move. My lungs could have been poked with a thousand needles and I still would've been able to cry I kept on mumbling to myself, “Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry,” as if somebody was there to hear it when actually there was nobody in the hallway and no one had seen me. I closed the door behind me, and taking a deep breath, I whispered, “I should’ve gone home... I should’ve just left this academy.” I didn't go to a single class, no one really cared. If a Beta was seen bloody through his shirt and no one asked if he was okay, then the crown might as well be invisible. I bet they would say something like, "Discipline builds character," and that they didn't see it. I was half undressing my uniform, each time I touched the flesh I had reddened by the lashes, and spit out “shit—oh gods—fuck that Alpha” right before I threw the shirt on the floor somewhere. I found the little ointment tube that was under my bed and with my lidless eyes I removed the cap, looking very nervous I said to myself, “This better help,” even if it hardly ever did. I put it on the area very gently, biting my own hand to keep the noise that I wanted to make from escaping my mouth. “You’re fine,” I whispered, “you’re fine, you’ve survived worse, this is nothing” but it was something, not today. Everything was off today. I​‍​‌‍​‍‌ lay on my bed, eyes wide open, and I kept staring at the ceiling. I was hoping sleep to come but it never came, and this was not the first time. My mind kept the horror flashing repeatedly in front of it; the scary room, the dragging chains, and the voice that was saying things I didn’t want to remember. It changed. It was the time that I thought about him. Dante Varyn. The angry, rude, cold, emotionless king. The one all the kingdom gossiped about. The one that would probably murder you if you breathed too loud in his direction. The one whose shirt I had accidentally drenched. The one who had looked at me as if I was dirt under his boots. “If he comes here, then what?” I asked the ceiling, turning my face to the side. “If he finds me, then what? If he came to decide that I’m the one to be punished, then what?” Everyone was sure that of the three, Dante was the worst. Kade was quiet. Lucien was crazy. But what about Dante? A storm disguised as a man was what Dante was, and when he broke, there was no one to be found. “I’m so done for,” I said to my pillow. “Completely and totally done for.” At the end, the overpowering force of sleep won, it didn’t matter that I resisted. Sleep was always the last thing I wanted, for it to be a nightmare as it always was. Sleep meant that you have to remember. This time, it didn’t take too long. I was in that room with no light again, I was falling over, gasping for air, and trying to push the walls that I couldn’t see. A voice was whispering, “Come here, asset…come here…” and another hand grabbed my neck and someone else said, “Hold him still,” and I told them to stop and scream for help, I begged that they let me go and, that they leave me alone— I woke up from that nightmare at 5 p.m. sweating and shaking. I could hardly breathe. For a second, I believed that the room was still dark, someone was still holding me, and I was still chained. I went into a panic and tried to get away with my legs until I bumped into the ​‍​‌‍​‍‌headboard. “Fuck—fuck—fuck,” I gasped, clutching at my chest. “It’s not real. It’s not real. Wake up—wake up, Rowan, wake up.” I didn’t even realize I was crying until I felt the tears dripping onto my hands—hot, relentless, the kind I didn’t let myself shed. But something inside me broke open, and I curled against the wall, whispering, “Stop it, please stop it,” but the sobs kept coming anyway. After a few minutes, I forced myself up and stumbled into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. My reflection looked pathetic—red eyes, wet cheeks, hair a mess, back shaking from each breath. “You look insane,” I muttered. “Congratulations.” And then my stomach growled. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I sighed. “Right. Groceries.” I changed into the only clean shirt I had left, still wincing at the pain in my back, and grabbed my keys. I stepped into the hallway, ready to sprint to the convenience store, grab whatever snacks I could afford, and come back before my brain had time to think too much. But I didn’t make it five steps. Because I suddenly heard shouting—real shouting, panicked shouting—and students were running down the hall like a stampede. “What the hell—?” I murmured, pressing myself to the wall as three girls sprinted past me. “They’re here!” one cried. “Run!” another screamed. “What’s happening?!” I called after them. No one answered. Footsteps thundered from the opposite direction, heavy and fast, and before I could react, I saw them—masked men, all in black, sprinting into the dorm wing like predators broken free from cages. One pointed directly at me. “That one!” “What?!” I shouted, stepping backward. “No—hey—hey, wait—what’s happening?!” They were already on me. Two grabbed my arms, another grabbed my waist, and I yelled, “Let go of me! Let go! I didn’t do anything—!” “Shut up,” one hissed, clamping a hand over my mouth. I bit him. Hard. He snarled. “Little bastard—” Another man grabbed my wrist and twisted it behind my back, and I screamed, “STOP—stop—my back—my back—!” Pain exploded across my lashes and I cried out, legs buckling. “Quit struggling,” one growled. “Let me go!” I yelled. “LET ME GO—HELP—SOMEONE—!” But most students had already fled, and the few who remained either hid or watched in terrified silence. I kicked wildly, but my body was exhausted, weak, shaking from agony, and the more I moved, the more my back screamed. Tears gathered at the corners of my eyes, but I forced them not to fall. “Sedate him,” one ordered. “No—no—NO—don’t—!” I thrashed so hard that one of them cursed, “Hold him still!” Another grabbed my jaw, forcing my head to the side. “No—don’t—PLEASE—someone—help—!” A needle pierced my neck. Cold spread instantly, crawling down my spine, making my limbs heavy, my vision blurry. I struggled to speak one last word, any word, anything at all— “Don’t…” And then my legs gave out. The last thing I heard was one of them saying, “Perfect. He’ll sell high.” Everything went black. CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 4 ROWAN I​‍​‌‍​‍‌ woke up water choking, gasping, and spluttering. It was a situation so cold and so loud that my body was jerking like I've been electrocuted. I wanted to get away but my arms were so weak and the ground was so slippery that I couldn't get away and the water was still coming down and it was icy cold and it made my skin hurt. "Wake up," a voice commanded impatient and without any trace of humor, from somewhere quite near my face. "Please, stop," I was interrupted again by my coughing and I tried to hide my face with my shaking hands.The water only stopped after a while. I managed to look around after a wheezing breath. It was a gigantic underground chamber or room with only the lamps fixed to metal chains giving a very dull and faint light. The floor looked like wet cement. The walls were draped in shadows. People tortured in the place, were at every spot of this huge room. I turned my head to the other side of the room very slowly and with very little movement and saw kids tied to chairs with their hands bound, faces swollen, lips bleeding. Alphas. Betas. There were also a few Omegas. I could recognize some faces from the academy and the rest were people whom I had never seen before. All were bruised, shivering, sobbing, and gasping. Men with masks on their faces and walking like vultures were there. They were very muscular as they were covered in black gloves, and the evilness of the sound made by their boots when they hit the floor, is what every time they did it, the whole room becomes completely quiet. The scene that I was witnessing turned my stomach upside down and made it churn. "What… what is this?" I inquired in such a low voice that it was hardly audible even to myself.The closest-to-me masked guy lowered his level with mine. L "Auction prep," he said, giving the answer without any kind of gesture or hesitation."You are our stock now." "I am not..." I started out but my voice disappeared. My mouth was, however, firmly controlled by him as he pressed his hand against my jaw so much that I could feel the bone under the force being ground.He silenced my protest with a firm grip and said, "Speak when spoken to, don't utter a word otherwise". Another one makes a low whistle after looking at me from top to bottom and then points a finger at me,"He is a good one," was his feedback." Very good. I can already see the buyers competing for him at his price." "VIP treatment?" another one laughed. "No doubt about it. Just take a look at that pair of eyes. Just take a look at that ‌ face." I moved away from him abruptly and hissed, "Leave me alone." They laughed. "Oh, he is really turning up the heat," said the person standing behind me. "Half the price he would have been, at the very least." Now my breathing was faster, my chest was tight. "Please, let me go. I promise I won't ask for anything else." "Pretty sure," the first man said while laughing, "that a good-looking boy like you will be the one to bring the highest bids." After that, one of them put his hand around my back and lifted the torn part of my shirt. No one spoke. ... A single, long, and sharp whistle ... "Well well," someone whispered. "What are we looking at here? New lashes." Another one close to him. "Still bleeding. Someone really had fun with him." One of the men was gently running his gloved hand across the scar that was from the tear and on my back and I couldn't help but let out a gasp and my whole body was recoiling. He was clicking his tongue. "We need it to be healed by auction day. Buyers are not fond of damaged goods." "And I'm not goods," I retorted, with my voice ​‍​‌‍​‍‌quivering. He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back until I was staring up at him. “Stop talking.” Then he shouted across the room, “Bring the ointment for this one. Expensive kind.” A bottle was tossed to him. He caught it and smirked down at me. “VIP, just like I said.” “Please don’t—” I whispered as he uncapped it. “Hold him,” he ordered. Two men pinned my arms to the floor. Another pressed a knee to the back of my neck. And when the ointment touched my raw lashes, I screamed. “Stop—stop—please—!” “Quiet,” one snapped, slapping a hand over my mouth. The sting was unbearable, burning straight into my spine. I was shaking uncontrollably by the time they finished. “There,” the man said, patting my cheek lightly. “You’ll look fine in three days. Fresh as new.” “Fuck you,” I whispered, tears in my eyes. He laughed and stood up. “Transfer him.” Two hours later, I was shoved into another dark room—a holding area lined with cages. Students from the academy were huddled inside: Omegas crying quietly, Betas hugging their knees, Alphas looking furious but helpless. “Rowan?” someone whispered. I turned, wincing at the pain in my back. It was Mara, one of the Omegas from my potion studies class, her eyes red, her hands shaking. She reached through the bars. “They grabbed us… they grabbed everyone…” I sank down beside her cage. “It’s okay,” I whispered, even though it wasn’t. “You’re going to be fine.” “No, I’m not,” she cried softly. “They said— they said we’re going to be sold—” “I won’t let them hurt you,” I told her, even though I could barely stand. “Just breathe, Mara. I’m right here.” A little girl in the next cage whimpered. She couldn’t have been older than eight. She clung to the bars, eyes wide. “Mister… I want to go home.” My heart twisted painfully. I crawled closer. “Hey,” I whispered gently. “Hey, sweetheart. What’s your name?” “Lila,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Lila,” I repeated softly, forcing my voice to stay steady. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re not alone.” She sniffled. “Are they gonna hurt us?” “No,” I lied. “No, they’re not.” “You promise?” I swallowed hard. “I promise.” We sat like that for a long time—me whispering to terrified strangers, pretending I was strong, pretending my back wasn’t on fire, pretending I wasn’t shaking. Two hours later, the door slammed open. “Take the pretty one,” a voice barked. I stiffened. “No—no, please—” Mara whispered. “Rowan—” “It’s fine,” I told her quickly. “I’ll be fine.” Two guards grabbed me. “Say goodbye,” one chuckled. “Bye, Rowan!” Lila cried. I forced a smile. “Be brave, Lila. I’ll see you soon.” They dragged me into a smaller room—dark, cold, silent except for dripping water. A single lamp illuminated a metal chair and a tray of ointments and food. “Strip,” one commanded. “No,” I snapped automatically. He grabbed the collar of my shirt and ripped it open. “I wasn’t asking.” I shuddered as he pushed me into the chair. “You need to look good,” the other muttered. “Pretty face, smooth skin, no visible marks. Buyers like that.” “I don’t care what they like,” I hissed. “Not your concern.” He pressed fresh ointment to my lashes again and I screamed, slamming my fist against the armrest. “Quiet,” he snapped. Then they forced food into my mouth. “Eat,” one growled. “You have to look healthy.” “I’m not hungry—” He pinched my jaw until my mouth opened. “Eat.” I swallowed because I had no choice. When they finally left the room, it went dead silent. And the memories I’d been trying to bury started crawling back—dark hallways, cold hands, voices calling me asset, flashes of chains, shadows pressing against me. “No,” I whispered. “No, don’t—stop—stop—” My breathing grew rapid, too rapid. Sweat dripped down my spine. My head pounded. I tried to stand but couldn’t. “Stop,” I begged no one. “Please stop—” I passed out on the floor. When I woke again, they were back. “Up,” one ordered. “Food.” “No,” I muttered weakly. “I can’t—” They shoved bread into my hand. “Eat.” For three days, it was the same. Cold room. Ointment. Forced food. Silence. Nightmares. More ointment. More silence. By the fourth day, I smelled awful, my hair was matted, and I hadn’t slept longer than ten minutes without jolting awake. My back still throbbed, but less violently—the ointment was working. The door opened. Two big men stepped in. “Time to prep you up,” one said. I exhaled shakily. This was it. Auction day. CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 5 ROWAN The moment the two masked giants stepped into the room, I knew the day had taken another sharp turn into hell. One of them snapped his fingers and jerked his chin toward me. “Up,” he barked. “No,” I muttered weakly, my throat raw, my body trembling from three days of forced sleep deprivation and ointment pain. He didn’t repeat himself. He just grabbed my arm and hauled me up so violently I hissed, feeling my half-healed lashes scream across my back. “Let go!” I snapped. Another reached for my jaw to force it steady—and instinct took over. I lunged forward and bit him. Hard. He recoiled with a shout. “Son of a—HE BIT ME!” I spat to the side. “Try touching me again.” The other man grabbed my hair and yanked my head back, forcing me to look up at him. “You keep that mouth running and someone’s gonna cut your tongue out.” “Great,” I hissed, “you’d be doing the world a favour.” They didn’t appreciate the humour. They stripped me down again, muttering about “pretty merchandise that talks too much,” and shoved me into a steaming bath so harshly I splashed under with a gasp. “Scrub him,” one ordered. The other grabbed a brush and began scraping my skin like I was a floor they were trying to polish. “Stop—stop—ah, fuck—gentler—!” I growled, but they didn’t slow down. “Don’t bruise the face,” the bigger one said. “Buyers don’t like damaged goods.” “I’m not—goods—!” I sputtered. He smirked. “You are today.” After nearly drowning me twice, they dragged me out and wrapped me in a towel. Another man entered with a tray of powders, creams, and brushes. “No,” I whispered, backing up until my spine hit the cold wall. “No makeup. Absolutely not. Don’t—” “Shut him up,” the makeup man said with a bored sigh. A hand clamped over my mouth. Another forced my chin upward. “The VIP ones always complain the most,” makeup man muttered, brushing foundation over my cheekbones. “Stop squirming. I’m fixing your face.” “It doesn’t need fixing,” I snarled. “Yes, it does,” he said flatly. “You look half-dead.” “That’s because I AM—mmph—!” He pinched my nose shut until I stopped talking. They painted my face, smoothed my hair, polished my skin, and made me look like something delicate.. It made me sick. When they were done, two guards grabbed me under the arms and hauled me to a covered cage—a reinforced steel box with thin bars. “Get in,” one ordered. “Fuck off,” I snapped. So they pushed me in. Hard. I hit the floor, groaning, and they slammed the door shut. The cage moved. Rolling. Out of the underground hall, through tunnels, until we emerged into a massive chamber buzzing with voices, lanterns, velvet curtains, and the thick stench of perfume and money. The auction. I heard Mara crying somewhere nearby. Lila sniffled in another cage. I pressed my face against the bars and whispered, “Hey, hey, I’m here. I’m right here.” “Rowan?” Mara whispered shakily. “I’m scared.” “I know,” I murmured. “I know. Just… breathe. Please breathe.” Lila whimpered, “They’re scary.” “I know, sweetheart,” I said. “I’m going to get you out. I swear. I’ll get you out.” I had no idea how—but I had to. People were being sold one by one. Screaming. Begging. Dragged away by strangers. Eventually, only three cages remained. Mine. Mara’s. And Lila’s. The auctioneer stepped forward, adjusting his jeweled mask. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced theatrically, “the final showcase of the evening—our premium selection!” I wanted to vomit. He gestured toward Mara first. “A lovely Omega, pristine quality, perfect for household or personal service. Starting bid—ten thousand!” The numbers climbed. Mara sobbed quietly. Then Lila’s cage rolled forward. “A rare find! A young one, unmarked, unsullied. Starting bid—fifty thousand!” “No—” I whispered, gripping the bars. “Don’t—don’t take her—” Then my cage moved. “And now,” the auctioneer declared with glee, “our VIP lot. A rare, exceptionally beautiful specimen with a striking face and spirited personality. Starting bid—five million.” I choked. “FIVE—?! Are you insane?!” “Shh,” a guard hissed, smacking the bars. The numbers started flying. “Six!” “Eight!” “Twelve!” “Fifteen million!” My heart hammered. “Twenty!” “Twenty-five!” Then— “Thirty million.” The voice echoed across the chamber. I froze. I knew that voice. Dante. But he was disguised, wearing a dark hood and a silver mask. “No, no, no—” I whispered. “Why him—why—” Another bidder tried to counter. “Thirty-two million—!” Dante’s voice cut over his effortlessly. “Forty.” Silence. I slammed my palms against the bars. “HEY! No! Don’t—don’t buy me—!” Gasps filled the chamber. The guards glared at me. Dante looked amused. “Fifty million,” he said calmly. I panicked. “WAIT—PLEASE—LISTEN—PLEASE—!” The auctioneer beamed. “Fifty million from the gentleman in silver!” “STOP!” I shouted. “Listen to me—Don’t buy just me—buy THEM—please—please buy the three of us—” The entire room froze. Dante tilted his head. “And why,” he said in that cold, posh tone, “would I do that?” “Because—because I’ll do anything,” I said desperately, gripping the bars until my knuckles turned white. “I swear—anything—just—don’t leave them here. Don’t let them be taken. Please—please—take all of us.” Dante stepped closer until I could see the faint curve of his mouth behind the mask. “You’ll do anything?” he repeated softly. I swallowed hard. “Yes.” “And you’ll behave?” “Yes—yes, I will—I promise—” “And you won’t insult me again?” “…I’ll try,” I muttered. He smirked. Then he lifted his hand lazily toward the auctioneer. “One hundred million,” he said. “For all three.” The entire chamber erupted. Screams. Gasps. Excitement. “One hundred million?!” the auctioneer cried. “SO—SOLD!” Dante—still masked—turned away as if he’d bought a basket of apples rather than three human beings. His guards moved instantly. “Transport the lots outside,” one ordered. My cage rolled, rattling. Lila’s followed. Mara’s, trembling. Outside, the night air hit me like a shock. They opened our cages one by one. When they opened mine, I staggered out, falling to my knees. “Rowan!” Mara rushed to me. “I’m okay,” I lied. Lila ran into my arms. I held her tight. “I got you,” I whispered. “I promised.” Then a disguised Lucien leaned casually against a sleek black vehicle. “Well,” he drawled, “that was dramatic.” I glared weakly. “Go to hell.” He winked. “Already reserved a seat, darling.” As they helped us toward the car, something strange happened. A man passed near me—tall, cloaked, quiet—and a scent hit me so sharply that I blinked. Something familiar. Something wrong. I shook my head, confused. The man slowed, just slightly, as if he heard my breath catch. Then he kept walking. Lucien opened the door. “Get in,” he ordered. I climbed inside with Lila clutching my shirt, Mara following shakily. The moment the door shut— Gunshots exploded outside. “DOWN!” a guard shouted. CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 6 DANTE The moment the three of them were transported out—Rowan, the little girl, and the Omega—the signal was given. A single, sharp whistle. The chamber behind us exploded into fire. It spread instantly, devouring curtains, igniting tables, swallowing the velvet-draped stage where the auctioneer had stood. Screams erupted before the smoke had time to rise. The guards we had planted along the walls threw off their disguises and moved with lethal precision, steel flashing as they cut down the masked handlers one by one. Lucien’s laugh echoed somewhere to my left, sharp and delighted, the sound of a predator in his element. I stepped forward through the smoke, my hands in my pockets, expression cool and unchanging as men burned around me. “Kill everyone involved,” I said calmly. “No survivors.” A dozen voices answered in unison, “Yes, Your Majesty.” Gunfire. Steel. Bodies hitting the floor. It was efficient. Clean. Controlled chaos designed by me. Kade appeared at my side, blood on his sleeves, his hair slightly disheveled from combat—meaning the fight had actually entertained him. “I’ve secured the victims,” he reported, his voice flat. “They’re being loaded into buses now.” Lucien sauntered toward us, dragging a handler by the collar before slitting the man’s throat without breaking stride. “Pathetic,” he drawled. “They didn’t even beg.” “Bodies?” I said. “Already being done,” Kade replied. The flames spread faster. We had planned it that way—three days of blueprints, stolen keys, forged clearance codes, and shadow routes through the underground. I’d memorized every inch of the layout myself. Because when I received the report that the academy—a structure under my family’s rule for six generations—had been breached, and that dozens of students had gone missing, something in me cracked. Not anger. No. Rage. Pure, icy, suffocating rage. I remembered the moment clearly: the trembling headmaster arriving at my war-room door, whispering that the East Wing had been infiltrated, that students had been taken in the night, that security had been overridden. I had stood there silently. Lucien had stopped mid-sentence. Kade’s hand tightened on the table. Then I spoke, voice calm enough to terrify the entire room. “Find them.” We searched for hours. Then decided to plan after finding out the trail led here—this underground den hiding behind an abandoned industrial zone. Someone inside the academy had helped them. Someone with clearance. But despite tearing through every corridor and cross-examining the entire administrative staff, we still hadn’t found the insider. Yet. My jaw tightened at the thought. Lucien smirked. “We’ll find him, brother. They always talk eventually.” “Make them talk faster,” I said. He grinned. “Gladly.” Outside the burning compound, rows of buses lined up, filled with unconscious or shaken students. Families were waiting at the kingdom’s emergency medical bay. We would return the students to their parents—quietly, without panic—while spreading the official story: a rogue raid intercepted by royal forces. It didn’t matter what lie we used. What mattered was control. Order. Dominance. “Send the buses out,” I ordered. Kade nodded to the transport officers. Engines rumbled to life. Lucien leaned against the door of our car. “You know,” he purred, “not bad for a three-day plan.” “Get in,” I said. He laughed. “Cold as always.” We rode in silence, the city lights passing in streaks outside the window as we headed toward the palace. My mind wasn’t on the fire, or the dead, or even the successful rescue. It was on the file on my desk. Rowan Hale. Nineteen. Registered Beta. Minimal reported medical history. And eyes too defiant for someone so easily broken. I had memorized the picture already. Not because I cared. But because he had dared to collide with me. Because he had spilt water on me, insulted me, snapped at me. Because he had begged. I heard his voice again— “Please buy us. I’ll do anything.” A foolish offer. One I fully intended to hold him to. By the time we reached the palace, the moon was high. Guards bowed as we passed, keeping their gazes low. The halls were quiet, the marble polished to mirror shine. I walked toward the east wing, where the rescued students who required monitoring were temporarily housed. “Where is he?” I asked the attendant. “In the royal recovery suite, Your Majesty,” she said quickly. “We placed the little girl with him as requested.” “Good.” I dismissed her and pushed open the door. The room was dimly lit, warm, comfortable. The little girl—Lila, I believed—was asleep in a nest of blankets on the bed, her tiny hand curled in the sheets. Rowan was pacing the room like a caged animal, hair a mess, shirt too big for him, eyes darting between the windows and the door as if expecting someone to break in and drag him away. The moment he saw me, he froze. His face tightened. And then he marched straight toward me. “YOU—” he began angrily, finger raised, voice strained from exhaustion. “I need to talk to you right now because what the hell was that—?! You can’t just—” I raised a hand. “I strongly suggest,” I said calmly, “that you rethink your next words.” He blinked, startled by the iciness in my tone. I stepped inside fully, closing the door behind me. “Because you belong to me now,” I continued coldly. “You agreed to that yourself. ‘I’ll do anything,’ remember?” His mouth opened—then shut. “And if you so much as insult me,” I added softly, “I will return the girl.”